Death Sentence
by TwoFaced2
Summary: Now that the Dark Lord knows of the prophecy, Voldemort will stop at nothing to end the life of The-Boy-Who-Lived, even if it means going after the ones he loves to lure him out... Harry's in for a rough year. Will he survive?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I am not J K Rowling, and thus, I did not create the Harry Potter books. Got it?

Enjoy!

…action of the wizard is previewed in the eyes before taking action. It is a good quality of an auror to never break contact with the opponent's eyes, even in the most desperate situations. Some experienced duelists, such as Shaw N. McShaw of the WRL (Wizard Reinforce League), 1879-1995, discovered a clever trick to fool an enemy, known to the modern day auror as "the McShaw Juke".

To perform the juke, a fake wand is needed. Keep your real wand in your opposite hand, preferably under the hem of the robes, where it can keep from catching the eyes of your opponent. Throw your opponent off guard by yelling out an incantation with the fake wand, and when they dodge it or put up defenses, use this time to take out your real wand from your robes and strike them down when they least expect it.

To attempt "the McShaw Juke", a complicated wrist movement is needed, which requires the knowledge of…

"Ow!" Harry threw a hand to his shoulder, surprised at the unexpected prick of pain. Hedwig was sitting at the edge of his desk, staring at Harry impatiently. Harry was so absorbed in his text book that he didn't even notice Hedwig fly into his room, equipped with a string of letters tied to her legs.

"Sorry, girl," he whispered, relieving the snow owl of the letters as quickly as he could in order to prevent another snap of the beak, "didn't see you there." He was careful to be extra quiet, hoping his uncle didn't hear him yelling. He could do without another one of those incidents this summer.

Satisfied, Hedwig was rewarded with a long drink and some biscuits that Harry brought home before term ended, especially for her. With a long summer ahead of him, he knew that he would need Hedwig for all the dozens of letters he expected from his friends.

But as much as Harry would have loved to have heard from his friends last summer as he was this, Harry just couldn't help but feel annoyed with all the letters that were being sent to him day in and day out. It wasn't as if they were giving him any useful information. It was all pity, the one thing that Harry hated above all else. Well, except for maybe Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange or Snape, of course.

Harry threw the letters aside, not even bothering to open them. He could already tell one was from Ron and the other from Lupin; he didn't even bother looking at the others, expecting them to be from either Hagrid or Hermione. Typical he'd be getting all these letters when he least needed them, he thought, focusing back onto his book, entitled, "101 Qualities Needed to Become an Great Auror" by Sadae Sufasa.

How many times did he have to tell them? He's _fine_! Why do they keep worrying about him? It's as if they think he'll do something stupid if left unattended for too long… like some little boy.

__

Remember, Harry, don't go too far off your property, you can't be too careful.

Lupin, with one of his one hundred "you can't be too careful" letters.

__

We're doing everything we can to get you out of there, believe me. Dad's been fighting with Dumbledore to get you to come and stay, but so far, he hasn't budged. We'll be getting you out any day now, I reckon.

Dumbledore doesn't seem to give a damn, does he, Ron? And it seemed that in every letter of Ron's, he would mention that 'any day now' Harry would be free of the Dursleys. Would that day ever come?

__

Harry, I know it must be hard for you, but you mustn't do anything to draw attention to yourself. I promised Dumbledore not to give out information in letters, but let's just say You-Know-Who is becoming more widely known. Please be careful, Harry.

'Spare me the lectures, Hermione', Harry would think, before thrusting the letter into his garbage can. That's all she had to offer anymore.

Don't worry, Harry, they're trying to get you out of there as soon as they can. All you have to do is be patient, that's all.

Whatever, Hagrid. He wasn't the one stuck at the Dursely's, having, once again, information kept from him. How could they expect him to be patient?

But, of course, it was for his 'protection'.

And what he hated, more than anything else, was that Sirius was never mentioned in his letters. Not at all… as if recognizing Sirius' death would lead Harry to do something 'unreasonable'. As if never mentioning his dead godfather would help Harry forget about what happened last June in the Department of Mysteries.

He could never forget.

And they knew. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Ginny, Lupin, Dumbledore, the whole Order… they all knew, even if they deny it.

It was all his fault. The reason Sirius Black died was because of Harry and his actions. Harry and his stupid '_saving people thing_'.

He could have listened to Hermione, who told him over and over again that day that it could be a trick. He could have knew that Kreacher was lying. Snape… he could have ran to him, told him before Umbridge found him in her office. He should have known Voldemort would not be able to get into the Ministry of Magic undetected. He should have listened for once in his life and learned Occlumency.

He should have remembered that mirror.

It was when he felt the searing pain in his knuckles that he recognized he hit the side of the desk with his fist. Even as he watched the blood pour down his hand after being pierced by a jagged piece of wood sticking out of the desk, he felt little pain.

It was the pain inside of him that was hurting.

And it hurt bad… worse than Harry ever remembered.

Feeling the tingle of warm tears upon his eyelids, Harry quickly dried his face. No… he couldn't think about it. He couldn't bare it.

He wanted to remember Sirius… he wanted to until the day he died. It would be an insult to his memory to forget, or to pretend their valuable time together never happened. His godfather was dead… and his godson, Harry, had loved him. He still did. But knowing that it was he who caused his death…

Harry would rather die than think on it for more than two seconds.

Thus, Harry turned furiously back to his auror book lying on his desk, accidentally smearing the edges with his own blood, which was still being ignored.

Reading… it was all Harry did for the two weeks of summer he was home. His room was littered with the remarkable amount of books he absorbed in so little time. After hearing about a Hogsmead Owl Post, Harry bought as many books about Defense Against the Dark Arts as Hedwig could carry. And all summer long, to escape thoughts about Sirius' death, this is what Harry did.

He read. Day in, day out, every hour of the day and late into the night. He was basically living off of bread and 3 hours a sleep a night. He dared not to go to sleep longer, in order to prevent dreams that he could feel on the borderline of his mind… dreams that would drive him crazy, if they occurred. Plus, dreaming was one of the things that linked himself to Voldemort strongest. And as for eating… let's just say, anything he put in his mouth made him want to puke it back up again.

Harry was sick. And he knew it. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he deserved it.

He was learning with remarkable speed, despite his sickness. He noticed, too, how much more easily he began to remember enchantments and incantations. It was strange… it was as if he had photographic memory that his Uncle Vernon always claimed having. When read, the information just popped into his head and stayed there.

Scary thing was, Harry yearned to read more. In fact, anything he could get his hands on would be suffice to fill his hunger for reading. Ever since he learned of his fate, he could think of nothing better to do than prepare. It was as if he was a robot, programmed to save the world.

But Harry was no hero, that was for sure. But if he really did want to believe this whole 'prophecy' crap, he would have to be prepared. Because by no means was he to be killed by Voldemort… oh no.

Not after all that he went through to stay alive.

Not after all his loved ones went through to see him alive.

Not after all those who died for him.

If Harry would have paid less attention to "101 Qualities Needed to Become an Great Auror" and more attention on his letters, he would have realized that on of the letters were from Dumbledore. Inside… a ticket out of his hell hole.

If only he would have noticed.

La la la la… review, if ya like, review if ya don't, yeah?

With love,

Ami


	2. Death

Disclaimer: Again, the characters are not mine... they all belong to Jo.

Rubbing his neck, Harry rose his aching head and looked around his room. He was extremely taken back to find sunshine pouring into his window. It was morning… when did he fall asleep last night? He couldn't recall…  
  
And Merlin, he felt terrible this morning. Not only did he have a stiff neck, due to the odd position he slept in last night, but his head was pounding. But Harry learned to live with the pulsing pain in his scar. Now that Voldemort was becoming active, as he learned from Hermione, he expected it to cause him continuous agony.  
  
Not that realizing this made him feel less pain.  
  
It was when he stood up to stretch that he realized an aching pain in his right hand. Looking down, he was surprised to find dried blood over the hem of his sleeve, ending somewhere around his elbow. A few splinters stuck out of his hand.  
  
_Great_, Harry thought to himself, flexing his aching hand and wincing. Knowing he would be stupid to let his cut unattended, he forced himself out of his desk chair and made his way out into the hallway. He would have to clean this out, with the use of Muggle antibiotics.  
  
As he walked toward the bathroom, he could feel the faint movement downstairs, occasionally hearing the voices of his Aunt, Uncle and cousin. Harry wasn't surprised. They hardly bothered with him anymore, ever since Moody, Tonks, Mr. Weasley and Remus threatened them two weeks ago. They were completely satisfied, maybe even thrilled, that Harry was keeping to his room throughout the day and night. It was just one less thing for them to worry about.  
  
Locking the door behind him, Harry gently pricked out the splinters in his hand as he reached the sink, wincing as new blood made the way to the surface of his hand. This was going to leave a scar, he realized. Soon enough, he would be looking like Moody's twin, he thought with a dry chuckle. Not only did he have a scar on his forehead, but he also gained a hefty scar from his 4th year encounter with Wormtail, when he pierced his arm to resurrect Voldemort. Now there would surely be a scar on his right hand, along with the other various small scars from his adventures with things like the Whomping Willow and Grawp. He even gained a scar from his fourth year encounter with the Spider during the Twiwizarding Tournament.  
  
As his thoughts lingered on his scars, Harry was given a rude awakening as his scar burst out with pain.  
  
Holding himself up with the sink, Harry's eyes filled with tears as he bit his tongue, preventing himself from screaming. Let the pain pass… oh god, please let it pass…  
  
It was then that he saw the images come to his mind.  
  
I t was a couple he once saw before… they were holding on to each other. Their eyes… they were looking up at him, scared… terrified…  
  
"NO!" the man cried out, as Harry watched a hand that was not his rise, pointing his wand toward the couple.  
  
"Please," the man cried out, "Don't hurt her… take me instead, I beg you…"  
  
After about five seconds of watching the episode, Harry's image was blurred by a bright, green flash of light. And when he opened his eyes again, he was looking at himself through his bathroom mirror. His skin was white, cold sweat trickling down his forehead… his green eyes wide and terrified…  
  
"No…" he whispered, staring into the eyes of the mirror, which he just realized were growing faintly red. "NO!" he screamed.  
  
Throwing himself up, he opened the bathroom door and sprinted to his room, ignoring his Uncle yelling out his name, evidently hearing Harry's momentary scream. But Harry didn't care… he had to save them. They were going to be killed…  
  
"HEDWIG!" he screamed as he entered his room, writing down a few words on a piece of parchment. His snow white owl awoke abruptly from her slumber and immediately took flight toward him. Normally, his owl would have pecked him to death for how rough he was being, but the owl seemed to understand his urgency. "Get this to Dumbledore! You must find him… GET THIS TO HIM AS QUICK AS YOU CAN! Do you understand!?"  
  
With something that looked suspiciously like a nod, Hedwig was out of his window and flying into the morning light before Harry could say another word.  
  
Harry then began to pace his room madly, his scar pounding with agonizing pain. This couldn't be happening… no. Not again… don't let them die. Please, don't let them die…  
  
If what he saw really happened… if what he saw was real…  
  
The Grangers were _dead_.  
  
Harry didn't realize, through his suffering, that Dumbledore's unnoticed letter was now growing faintly red.  
  
Next chapter will be up momentarily. I do hope you enjoyed! 


	3. Conversation

Disclaimer: Do I have to do this for every chapter? I do NOT own Harry Potter, for crying out loud!

While Harry Potter paced his room, hundreds of miles away, a tall, bearded man in long silk robes was pacing his study. The old wizard was so caught in his thoughts that he did not notice the head spring from his fire until it started to repeatedly yell his name.

"Albus!" the head of Remus Lupin yelled for the umpteenth time. His voice was filled with anguish. Dumbledore turned his attention toward him abruptly, before immediately turning toward the fireplace.

"Well?"

"They just got there… and…"

"So, it is true," Dumbledore sighed sadly, shaking his head. "The Grangers are dead."

Remus was quiet for a moment. "We just got there this morning. It took us ages to alter the neighborhood's memory before we could even come close to the site." Remus shook his head sadly. "We didn't expect this to happen… Voldemort fed the wrong information to Snape, hoping to fool us into looking in the wrong place…"

"His plan succeeded."

"The house was completely demolished…" he said, trying his hardest to keep his voice even.

"Were there any survivors?"

"Yes. Hermione wasn't there at the time of the attack."

Dumbledore sighed, a wave of relief spreading through him.

"I see…" Dumbledore stood straight and sadly took a seat on a leather chair that stood before the fireplace, as if he could not bear to stand. "I assume she is safe? Unharmed?"

"We were lucky. She was on vacation when it happened, with that Quidditch Player, Krum. Just so happened she came home early this morning… and, well… I made sure I was there to tell her before she saw…"

There was a long silence now. All that could be heard was the momentary whispers of the Headmaster's portraits surround his study.

"I am sure Voldemort is angry he could not kill her," Dumbledore finally said, his voice back to it's even tone. "She was, after all, his reason for killing the Grangers."

"Why would he go after them, Albus? Why muggles such as the Grangers?"

"I assume Wormtail leaked information to him of the friendship of Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley and Harry. I informed the Order last meeting that I predicted this would happen, and alas, it has. But by no means did I predict he would go after the Grangers… I thought he would think it below him… I was wrong."

Another silence spread through the room. Remus barely noticed the pain in his knees from kneeling with his head in the fire for so long.

"So he's going to still try to lure Harry out, then?" Remus asked.

"Yes. I suppose he thinks that he is staying with the Order. He is confident he knows Harry, and thinks that he will run out to find him when he hears that the Grangers were killed…"

"Which is why you are bringing him back to Headquarters, I assume?"

"Precisely. I am not satisfied that Harry will be safe at the Dursley's for much longer. Both Arabella Figg and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who have been watching over him this past week, have both reported that he does not intend to stay at his Uncle's for much longer, even if he has to escape on foot…."

"Speaking of Harry, Albus," Remus said. "Does he know…?"

"Yes…" Dumbledore said sadly, taking out a piece of parchment from the inside of his robes. "I received it this morning."

"Don't tell me--"

"_Precisely_. Harry had a vision of it this morning, it seems."

"This _morning_?" Remus cried out in alarm. "But, Dumbledore, this happened last night!"

"It seems that Voldemort showed Harry this bit of information in hope to lure him out. Perhaps bid him a warning…"

There was an uneasy silence. "I don't understand it, Albus," Remus said. "How could he have found out about the prophecy?"

"That is a mystery we will perhaps never know, Remus. All we can do is try to keep Harry as safe as possible now that the knowledge is in Voldemort's hands. He will do anything in his power to lay his hands on the boy. Which is why I do not think Harry will be safe at the Dursley's much longer…"

Remus nodded.

"Is Harry ready?"

"Yes. I sent him a letter last night that the portkey would become active this morning. He should be arriving at Grimmuald any moment now."

"Are you so sure?" Remus said, raising an eyebrow. "If I know Harry, he will not be agreeing with coming back to Grimmuald Place. Especially after… well…"

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I have taken this into account myself. But there is no other place for Harry, and no place safer." He paused. "And, I am sorry to say that he will have no choice but to be brought here."

Remus raised his eyebrow, but nodded all the same. "I… I better go see him off, then." Remus said, his heart suddenly aching as he heard Hermione's cries from upstairs. Dumbledore seemed to have heard them too.

"Oh, and Remus?" Dumbledore said as Remus prepared to take leave. He looked up at Dumbledore's eyes, which looked empty… devoid of their usual twinkle.

"Try to break it to him gently. This will not go easy on him…."

Remus nodded, knowing what Dumbledore meant. After losing Sirius, Harry will not take the information that Voldemort knew of the prophecy any more gently than he will learning that Voldemort killed the Grangers simply to get to him.

"Yes, sir. I… I will try…"

Remus stood from his perch in front of the fire, growing momentarily dizzy after kneeling for so long. He was surprised to see some of the Order behind him, obviously hearing in on his conversation.

Lupin looked at them sadly, letting pass their rudeness. "Harry will be arriving soon. I want you all to clear the room. I… I want to tell him this myself."

Understanding, they all left the room without a word. After a few moments, the room was cleared, and Remus could now hear Hermione and Mrs. Weasley very clearly from the upstairs.

He took his wand out of his jacket and, with a swoop of his wand, made the room sound proof. The noises from the upstairs died instantly.

He couldn't stand the noise. It was the worst sound in the world.

Tired… yawn. I'll update as soon as I can. I'm taking a break from my AP Art project, which is due tomorrow, and which is only 25 percent done. I'm gonna be up ALL night.

I hope you all have nightmares.

The more ya review, the more I update. It works that way.

Love,

Ami


	4. Portkey

Disclaimer: What… do you want me to sing it for you? I do NOT own Harry Potter, okay?

Not even Harry knew how he survived those hours of waiting.

It was as if time had stopped… the image of Hermione's parents fresh in his mind. The flash of green light, still obscuring his senses.

He felt like throwing up, but he managed not to. How, he didn't know. He was paler than ever, a cold sweat trickling down his brow as he sat on his bed, his elbows propped up against his knees and his head in his hands.

Please, say it wasn't happening. Please… the Grangers were safe. They had to be. Hermione and her parents were still alive…

And as another hour passed, Harry made up his decision without even thinking about it. He could not stand another moment in that room of his.

He wouldn't need anything other than his wand and invisibility cloak. He could come back for his things later, if he had the chance. Nothing else mattered. He had to get to Hermione. He knew it was crazy… he knew he was doing the exact same thing he did a month ago at the Department of Mysteries. He didn't care if he was walking right into a trap.

All that mattered was that he get out of that room. Before he died.

Opening the window to his room, he looked down, planning an escape. If he landed horizontally on those bushes below, he should manage to prevent a broken neck, he thought.

Just as he had a foot out the window, he noticed a bright red light at the corner of his eye. In pure instinct, Harry drew his wand from his pocket and faced the light, a spell on the tip of his tongue.

It was a letter.

Slowly and cautiously, Harry made his way to his desk, his wand direct. Who could it have been from? Voldemort, perhaps? He couldn't take any chances.

He reached out a hand. It was warm… and for some reason, he was drawn to it. Drawn to touch it…

And when his fingers did touch the warm letter of the unmarked envelope, Harry felt a familiar tug above his navel, and knew instantly…

It was a portkey.

And in pure terror and confusion, Harry Potter was thrusted from his room as he lost consciousness, his sickness finally taking toll on him.

I know it was short, but hey, there's more to come.

Review, if ya like! I really appreciate them.


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